


Bedazzled

by Sylvia_Fig



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bedazzler - Freeform, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock gets crafty, Unrequited Love, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvia_Fig/pseuds/Sylvia_Fig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two days before the wedding and Mary's gown still hasn't arrived. So Sherlock decides to make her one. (He's watched the YouTube videos; it's all fine.) Also features Sherlock with a Bedazzler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedazzled

“John,” Sherlock said, “I need you to go to the craft store.”

“Why,” John said, not bothering to lift his face his out of his hands.

John had been sitting at 221B’s kitchen table since seven that morning, which was good, because he couldn’t actually stand up if he tried. Sherlock hadn’t bothered mentioning that he applied an experimental adhesive to that exact kitchen chair moments before John arrived. But he would find out eventually, and though it might put him out a bit, at least it’d be productive this way. Sherlock only hoped the stuff hadn’t bled through John’s jeans to his skin. That would be _messy_.

“I’ll text you a list of the items I need,” Sherlock said, throwing himself onto the couch. “For now, write down Mary’s mobile number and take your jeans off.”

John dropped his hands and looked over at Sherlock. “My jeans.”

“Yes.“

“Don’t suppose I could know _why_ I’m taking my jeans off?”

Sherlock huffed. “Because I want to see if they’ll stick to your arse.”

“Sherlock. Why would my trousers stick to my arse?”

Replying would take too much energy. Sherlock trusted John to figure it out.

Weeks ago, wanting to develop a skillset that would be useful in any wedding crisis, Sherlock watched YouTube videos on everything from napkin folding to baking to sewing. He’d been hoping the florist would cancel or die, actually, because he very much enjoyed watching the videos on flower arrangement. But if Mary needed a wedding dress, Sherlock could create one for her.

From the kitchen, he heard John sigh. Sherlock cracked an eyelid. John had unbuckled his belt, was bending his knees to stand -- and stumbled. His trousers were completely adhered to the seat. John’s eyebrows bunched together and Sherlock wished he could touch the grooves on John’s forehead.

Sherlock swept that wish from his head. Wishing was an exercise in futility, especially when it came to John Watson.

“I can’t stand up,” John said. “Sherlock. Why can’t I stand up?”

John always did that. Inserted Sherlock’s name into every sentence when he was upset, or when Sherlock had done something a bit not good. It was one of John’s more endearing traits. Sherlock liked hearing John say his name.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock said. “You can stand up. Just take your jeans off.”

“How do I take my bloody trousers off if I can’t _stand up?_ ”

“Shimmy.”

“Shi--”

Sherlock waited. Closed his eyes and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

He heard John unbutton his trousers and unzip his fly. Sherlock didn’t look because that would distract him. Hurt him. And he needed to focus.

Sherlock knew Mary’s measurements by heart, of course; it was the construction of the dress that he needed to concentrate upon. The cut. Sleeves or strapless? Sleek and fitted, or a princess ball gown?

In the kitchen, John was grunting and cursing under his breath. The chair legs scraped roughly against Mrs. Hudson’s hardwood floors. Sherlock didn’t think John would be this slow, and was honestly a bit disappointed. It took him ten minutes to free himself from the trousered prison.

Sherlock knew that John was standing there in his boxer shorts.

“Can I borrow some slacks, then?” he asked.

Sherlock did not open his eyes. In fact, he closed them tighter.

John stomped up the stairs.

No tulle or bell skirts and definitely not strapless. No white. Mary wasn’t old, but she wasn’t a blushing bride, either. Pretending that she was would only embarrass everyone involved. Lace or silk was the biggest question.

Sherlock would make Mary’s dress a masterwork. It would be perfect because she was the person John had chosen. And everything would be perfect for John.

He pounded back down the stairs. “Right. So you’ll text me?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“This for a case?” John sounded hopeful. He wanted a distraction from what he was convinced would be a ruined wedding. Sherlock didn’t respond because it wasn’t needed. John slammed the front door when he left, but Sherlock knew he was happy to go.

Sherlock waited to text until he was sure that John was locked in a cab, halfway across London.

_Cream lace: 20 yards_

_Three spools of ribbon. Color: English Violet_

_Silk thread. Twenty Spools._

_Bedazzler_

Sherlock had finally gotten to the design stage that required a pencil and sketchbook when his phone buzzed. It was John.

_Thank you._

* * *

Sherlock didn’t sleep. Wasn’t tired. Beneath his slender fingers, a messy lump of fabric was becoming something beautiful.

And John was happy. After he dropped off the supplies, he’d wrapped Sherlock up in his arms, despite the other man’s protests. At first, Sherlock’s arms hung purposelessly at his sides. He was busy, after all, and if he refused to participate in the hug, perhaps it would end sooner.

Then he felt John crying. Actually felt it -- his tears were wet on Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock hugged him back. He was filled with love for the smaller man. It was fierce and sharp, and it hurt.

But John deserved better than Sherlock. He deserved someone normal, someone who could love him in a pure, simple way. Sherlock’s love wasn’t simple. So he kept it inside, where it could only hurt _him_.

Sherlock would stand beside John in two day’s time, watch John smile and swear vows before god and human. Sherlock would toast at the reception, in front of people whose names would never be saved on his hard drive. And he would make this bloody gown.

For John.

Well, for Mary. But really for John.

Sherlock was quite good at sewing, actually. It was just math and cutting along a dotted line. He slapped a fifth patch on his forearm and rolled his sleeve down to cover it. Only out of habit. John wasn’t there to worry about how many patches Sherlock used.

He supposed the sun rose and fell while he was inside 221B, but if a tree falls in London and Sherlock isn’t there to hear it, did it even exist in the first place?

Thirty hours after he began, Sherlock completed the dress.

Cream lace with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Fitted, but not scandalously so. Ribbon the color of English violets was sewn beneath the bust of the gown to put color in Mary’s cheeks. Simple and classic. It’d suit her, and John would think it beautiful.

One last thing.

Sherlock picked up the bedazzler and loaded it with black and silver sequins. It was only three in the morning on Sunday -- he still had hours to sunrise, and he wanted to do one more thing that would make John smile.

Sherlock picked up his shoes and got to work.

* * *

John and Mary arrived first thing. When she saw the dress, Mary started crying embarrassingly sloppy tears.

And Sherlock had never seen John look so proud.

Sherlock got another hug, and he tried not to keep holding on when John pulled away.

“Sherlock!” John said, looking down at the other man's feet. “What shoes are you wearing?”

Sherlock clicked his heels together, making the black and silver sequins covering his shoes sparkle under the lights. “Just wanted to spice things up a bit. They were so boring before, don’t you think?”

John tossed his head back and laughed. The sight of it doused Sherlock’s pain.

Mary called John into the next room so he could see the dress, and Sherlock watched him go.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know anything about making dresses. Obviously.


End file.
